


Batman Buys a Minivan

by JustSomeStories



Category: Batman (Comics), Batman - All Media Types, DCU, DCU (Comics)
Genre: Bat Brothers, Bat Family, Bruce Wayne is Not Batman, Bruce Wayne is So Done, Bruce Wayne is a Bad Parent, Bruce Wayne is a Good Parent, Gen, He kinda goes between the two, NO CAPES, bruce wayne is a soccer mom, minivans, more of the first one though
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-19
Updated: 2019-05-19
Packaged: 2020-03-07 17:12:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,508
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18877573
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JustSomeStories/pseuds/JustSomeStories
Summary: Bruce struggles with being a dad and having to deal with other parents. An AU in which the Justice League are all passive aggressive soccer moms and Bruce is done with them.





	Batman Buys a Minivan

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote this because the idea of Bruce being a stressed soccer mom was way too entertaining to me. Hope you guys like it <3

It all started with a blue raspberry Slurpee.

The drink had melted to a point where it could only be considered a sugar infused sludge. It was reminiscent to the discarded snow on the side of the road left in a half-thawed state; a consistency that left everyone uncomfortable.

Bruce hated that damn Slurpee.

“Dami! You need to let go.” Damian was grasping Dick by the arm, a bottom lip popping out. A perfected technique known to be lethal through its sympathetic capabilities. It took all Bruce’s willpower to not fall victim to its empathetic intoxication. 

“Damian, let go of Dick.” 

Tim was in the middle of them, his half drunk, melted blue slush of a disturbing consistency balanced precariously between his knees. His tangerine orange straw hung from his mouth as he jerked back to trying to not get steamrolled by Damian. 

Jason had taken the moment of chaos to put his mud cracked cleats on the dashboard to tie them. A smirk growing each second he wasn’t reprimanded by a distracted Bruce.

“Why can’t I play in the game, Father? I am better than all the other pagans Dick plays with- Jason included.” 

“Excuse me?” Jason’s spun around, his back twisting at an unnatural angle as he tried to keep his feet on the dashboard while also glaring at Damian. “Do you have a death wish? You can’t play with two broken ankles, Kid.”

“Jason!” Bruce could feel the years peeling off of him. Yep, he was going to die young.

Damian let go of Dick’s arm and pushed past Tim’s knee making the Slurpee wobble as he turned to yell at Jason. “I would like to see you try, Todd. I wouldn’t even need cleats to end your excuse for a sports career.”

“Says the ten-year-old.”

“I’m eleven! Father, tell Todd I am eleven!”

Bruce pushed Jason’s jersey into his chest. “Go. If your coach has words with me about you being late, we’ll be having words.”

Jason started pulling on the jersey, his head getting stuck part way through leaving him a turtle stranded inside its own shell. He wildly waved his arms as he tried to get it unstuck. 

A stray hand got dangerously close to Tim’s Slushie. Bruce pulled in a breath he only let out after Jason’s head had popped through and his hands calmed.

Bruce tossed Dick his jersey which he put on with much more grace than Jason. “Hurry, I don’t want to have to sit by the Kents… again.” 

“I like the Kents,” Tim said, his straw dropping back into his vile drink. He was pushed aside as Damian made another grab for Dick as he opened the door. He caught him by the shoulder and Dick pulled away.

“Dami, I’ll see you after the game.”

“No!”

Bruce saw all his regrets flash before him as Damian wiggled in the backseat. The things he’d done, the things he hadn’t. Each moment a reminder of all his mistakes, the most prominent being having allowed Tim to buy that damn Slurpee.

Damian’s foot caught the edge of the cup and all three members of the backseat were covered in a sticky blue sludge along with the insides of the car.

“My Slurpee!”

“Drake! You imbecile!”

Tim wiped Slurpee out his eyes, turning to Bruce. “This is not on me!”  

Bruce grit his teeth eyeing the post-nuclear diabetic wasteland that was his car. He thought of Alfred’s undoubtedly passive aggressive reaction.  _ It’s quite alright Master Bruce, I’ve always said blue would complement the finishing quite nicely. _

“Get. Out.”  

Dick and Jason jumped out of the car, running as they hit the ground. Bits of ice fell off of Dick as he ran.

Tim and Damian followed after them, both making the wise decision to not to stick around with Bruce while he looked for a parking spot. He watched them leave a growing frown on his face. 

_ At least it’s uphill from here. _

Wrong. Diana just had to double park her damn oversized SUV. He dropped his head against the steering wheel. He needed a nap.

* * *

 

To make a wonderful day just  _ so much better _ , when he got to the bleachers, he found it packed to the brim with high schoolers, small children, and worst of all, parents. He made his way up through the struggling masses trying to find a space to sit. 

Halfway up, he stepped in gum. He scowled at the gooey substance and scraped his foot against the stairs trying to wipe it off in vain. Dejectedly, he headed up the stairs, shoes still gum stained. Upon catching sight of an empty seat his walk slurred more. 

Of course. It had to be beside Clark.

He was on death row, each step bringing him closer to the hangman’s noose, to Stolypin’s necktie, to his final breath. He didn’t apologize as he scooted past the other parents, why bother? Half of them had snaked him at last week’s bake sale anyways.

Fucking Ollie and his amazing ‘homemade’ funfetti strawberry buttercream cupcakes. As if that nitwit could even bake a chocolate chip cookie in an Easy Bake Oven™; taking off the price tag doesn’t qualify something as ‘homemade’. 

He sat down, feet pointed away from Clark who had straightened his back and adopted an overly toothy smile. “Hello, Bruce.”

“Clark.”

“Your boys got here just in time, I think Lois was about to pop a vein.” 

Dick and Jason were standing in the wrong jerseys with their heads cowled as Coach Lois berated them. He couldn’t hear her but his lips thinned nonetheless. 

It didn’t matter if she had a hyphen in her name, she was still a Kent and all the Kents were bitches. Especially Clark, who somehow managed to be a gap-toothed backstabbing bitch despite having perfect teeth.

“Where are your kids?”

“No idea where Kara or Jon got off to, but it looks like Konner’s talking to Tim.”

The ultimate betrayal, his own family fraternizing with the enemy. As if sensing his name, Tim’s eyes traveled up the bleachers and met Bruce’s. He paled and trailed off with Konner following closely behind.

“I didn’t know they talked.”

“Really? Konner mentioned it on the car ride here. Can’t say I’m surprised though.”

There it was. What a gap-toothed backstabbing bitch. Bruce kept his voice monotone as he watched his two eldest juggled a soccer ball back and forth. “What’s that supposed to mean, Clark?”

“Hm?” Clark was obnoxiously chewing on popcorn. “Oh, I’m sure Tim mentioned it, you just probably missed it.”  The sickly sweet voice was about as genuinely sweet as the popcorn he snacked on. “Don’t overreact, Bruce.”

He kept in a groan trying to focus on his boys preparing to get ready for the game. A couple rows down Barry was waving a sign. “Let’s go, Wally!” The game hadn’t even started yet. Why was he yelling?

Bruce rubbed the bridge of his nose.

Wally had joined in with Dick on passing the soccer ball back and forth as Jason had stalked out of Bruce’s view. Wally dropped his head, his face turning a similar color to his hair.

Dick looked up to Bruce, probably thankful that he didn’t make his support know in such an overbearing fashion or really at all. Strange he wasn’t smiling. 

“Do you think you can move over at all?” 

“No Clark, I don’t think I can.”

This was going to be a long day.

* * *

 

“Father, we must get victory ice cream to celebrate Grayson’s victory.” Damian was trying not to smile in the backseat causing Dick to grin at his masked praise. Tim was stuck between them an indifferent look on his face.

“Wow Demon Brat, do you think I just stood there?” Jason had replaced his jersey with his leather jacket. 

“Essentially.”

“Fuck you too.”

“Jason!” Bruce’s hands gripped the wheel tighter. “Please at least try and act as if Alfred was here.” 

Jason crossed his arms leaning back into his chair. He pursed his lips. “So you’ll yell at me for swearing, but not Tim for committing treason? He was being all buddy-buddy with Kon.”

“What the hell, Jay?” Tim flipped Jason off making Bruce let out another long out sigh. Why him? who cursed him to this fate? He must have been a serial killer in a past life and this was his retribution.

“Tim-”

Before he could say anything to him, Jason jumped in. He drawled out his words and hid a smirk as he knowingly stirred the pot that was their dysfunction. “I always knew I was the least favorite.”

“Of course you are Todd.” Damian leaned forward hands on his knees. He not only willingly, but enthusiastically dropped full logs onto the fire Jason had fanned. “Anyways Father, about the ice cream-”

“What is your deal, Demon? Do you want to die or something?”

“Jason I don’t have favorites.” He had to say it, he was obligated. He really didn’t have favorites per sé... but Dick was acting like an angel at that moment so who could blame him. Probably Clark, the absolute hypocrite. Like that man didn’t care more for Jon than Kon.

“We should get Ice Cream,” Dick said. His voice was weird as he said it. Bruce couldn’t quite figure out what it was though it seems muffled as though he had to physically choke the words out. Maybe it was the just lack of the ever-present smile on his face. 

“We have ice cream at home.” 

A chorus of outrage. They verbalized their discrepancies as though he’d signed their death warrant for a crime they been framed for. It was ice cream for God’s sake. Their yells got louder as they passed the dingy excuse of a Dairy Queen.

“We never celebrate our victories.” Dick’s voice sprung out from the melting pot of anger that had boiled over. His voice still different; he was seemingly talking through a mouthful of wool. “Clark always takes Kara and them out for ice cream.”

Bruce’s foot hit the pedal with a vengeance that threatened fry his breaks. His kids let out screeches at the sudden stop. He both heard and felt Damian faceplant against the back of his seat. 

“Father!”

“We’re getting ice cream.” He did an unlawful U-turn that was spurred on by his kids’ cheers. Jason, in particular, had a crazed look in his eyes from Bruce breaking traffic laws.

“Hell yeah! Do it again!” Jason pumped his hand in the air. He sniffed the air. “Let’s burn rubber till there’s no tire left to burn!” 

That was mildly concerning, but he’d deal with that later. Right now he had to get his sons some victory ice cream. He pulled into the Dairy Queen trying not to let his nose scrunch up at it’s fading lettering and crumbling walls. He should have to a different one, though not to ensure health codes were upheld.

He parked into the busy lot, popping his door open. “Hello, Bruce. I wasn’t expecting to see you here.”

It hadn’t really when Dick had said it, though it seemed obvious now. ‘Clark always takes Kara and them out for ice cream’ of course he’d be there.

“Go away, Clark.”

Bruce walked stiffly away from him. The four boys running ahead of him. Jason was being harassed by Tim who’d forgotten his wallet. “Jay you owe me, you  threw me under the bus earlier to save your own sorry ass.”

Jason pulled his wallet out of Tim’s grasp. “And I’d do it again for less. Hell, I’d drive the bus if I could.” Tim frowned shuffling his feet. Jason groaned and flipped open his wallet. “Fine. What do you want?”

Dick and Damian were already at the yellowed glass. Dick had a renewed smile on that made having to deal with Clark worth it. “Just one banana split please.” Damian tugged on the edge of his sleeve and whispered something to Dick. “Oh, and no cherries.”

Bruce saw a group of other celebrating parents that held an appreciated lack of Clark. He made his way over, overhearing their conversation as he walked. “Ollie! You need to bring those amazing cupcakes again.” 

He walked past them, instead going to sit alone at a table to watch the chaos unfold. The smiles of his family were like decaf coffee, they should have kept him awake, but did nothing. He just wanted a nap.

“Thanks, Jay.” Tim held a waffle cone that was nearly capsized from scoops of strawberry ice cream. 

“Don’t mention it. Seriously don’t. I have a reputation to uphold.” Jason veered away from Tim towards Roy. Tim became a ship stranded in the sea of people looking alone as waves crashed against his ship threatening to topple it. Bruce’s legs tensed as he prepared to get up to go talk to his son. To be his lighthouse.

“What flavor did you get?” 

Tim was saved from sinking as Kon walked over to him, a hot fudge sundae in one hand, a spoon in the other. He had missed his mouth at some point, his cheek smudged in fudge.

“Strawberry.”

Bruce struggled to smile authentically. Tim didn’t need him to be his lighthouse anymore. He leaned back into his chair ruffling a hand through his hair. Clark sat beside him. 

“It’s hard isn’t it?” Clark held a cone with a single scoop of Superman ice cream. Bruce hated the flavor, it made his stomach turn. “To realize they’re growing up.” 

“Tim’s mature, I know he doesn’t need me.”

Clark grabbed his shoulder a raised eyebrow. “Bruce, he’ll always need you. You’re his dad.” 

Bruce shoved his hand off. “Sorry Clark, I’m too tired to talk clichés with you right now.” He rubbed his darkened under eyes. “How’s the new minivan?”

Minivans, the patriotic and universal symbol of the soccer mom. He’d refused to get one as it’d the obituary confirming him as one. Sure, he went to the games, he participated in the bake sales, but that was just him being a good dad.

He wasn’t a soccer mom.

“It’s great!” Clark spoke with a genuine joy that sounded unnatural coming from the snake he had as a face. “I’m able to drive all the kids around and their friends.”

Bruce looked at his children. Dick was sharing a banana split with Damian as he talked to Donna, Wally, and a couple others. Damian conversing with Jon of all people, though he did seem annoyed. Jason was making wild gestures as he retold a story to Roy and Kor’i. Tim, who’d been sitting on the grass with Kon, had been joined by Bart and Cassie. 

Life was fleeting and he’d be damned if he didn’t write his own obituary. After all, he’d need more space to drive all these additional people and Tim had spilled Slurpee all over his current car. He bit down on the bullet like a Union soldier getting their leg amputated.

“Where’d you buy your Minivan? I was thinking of getting one.”

**Author's Note:**

> I don't know if I'll add more. Let me know if you'd rather it be a one-shot or if you want more of soccer mom Bruce. Thanks for reading :)


End file.
